


Barefoot Muse

by velvetcadence



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Charles Is a Darling, De-aged Charles, Despoilment, Di's Underage Porn Thing, Erik has Feelings, Established Relationship, Fisting, Fucking, Loss of Virginity, M/M, POV First Person, Perversion, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sappy, Shota, Spanking, Underage Sex, X-Men First Class Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence/pseuds/velvetcadence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Charles is deaged to a small-sized nerdy looking kid/teen. Erik is fascinated and can't keep his hands off the soft smooth skin of this Charles. Charles obliges, trusting Erik blindly because Raven had told him that Erik is a close friend of his older self.</p><p>Bonus if Erik takes Charles's "first time" this way."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Barefoot Muse 赤足缪斯](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816333) by [Glacier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glacier/pseuds/Glacier), [velvetcadence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence/pseuds/velvetcadence)



> Prompt [here](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/7634.html?thread=12971986#t12971986).
> 
> Props to [Kage](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/) for the quick beta.
> 
> Now with [art](http://asix-oud.tumblr.com/post/78319434258/tw-underage-barefoot-muse-by-velvetcadence) from the brilliant Asix-oud!

It's exquisite to splay you atop the cotton sheets, to have you nubile and pliant at my command. I have no love for little boys, but I will have you in any way I can, my darling. You're as trusting as a lamb. What does this say about your childhood, I wonder? Or are these little trembles from fear? _Don't be afraid_ , I whisper as I curve my lips above your navel. You've nothing to fear from me.

My little kisses tickle you. You laugh as I track them all over your torso, and when I poke you below the ribs, you try to wiggle away like you've always done. Gasp, when I flick my tongue out to your nipple, your eyes wide at the obscene licks. I watch you watch me, trying to get away, trying to push back.

_Does it hurt?_ I ask as I tend to the other one, rolling it gently in my fingers. You shake your head. _It's strange_ , you say.

_But good?_

_...Yes._

I blow at the wet peak, urging a squeak out of you. I could do this all night. I could watch you writhe from this alone, confused by pleasure, and from so small a touch. But that is not my design tonight.

Are you old enough for wet pleasure, Charles? Does it elicit anything when I lightly trace the tip of my finger over your slit and down your shaft? What's this? Ah, perhaps you are. I always liked the weight of your balls in my hand, lightly furred and heavy when you are erect. I like it no less now, smaller and more sparse, for I know the man you'll grow to be.

Would you let me between your legs and spread my hands on your soft thighs? The coax is enough to position you as I like.

_Erik_ , you say, trembling now in earnest. _Shhh_ , I urge, kissing the down above your little cock. Your hands are lost, wandering between clutching the sheets and gripping onto my shoulders. I guide your wrists to your chest and leave you to fondle yourself as I buss a kiss to the head of your cock. The touch is electricity to you. Your thighs twitch in my hands. _Tut tut, my love. Shall I cuff you to the bed?_

_N-No..._

_Shh, it is alright._ You are just learning. I will teach you very thoroughly tonight.

Watch me, as I hold your shaft by the base and flatten my tongue to the length of it. Watch, as I close my lips on the tip and swirl my tongue and suck and suck and--

The taste of you comes swiftly on my tongue. How can I describe it? It is a lighter brine, and less than I am used to, but I can't complain. The surprise in your eyes fills me up with pride and sates me even as I lap up the rest of your pleasure. Your bones look like they have melted, so languid are you on my bed.

I kiss you again, between your legs, and then kiss you on your lips, lick your taste into your mouth. You take my tongue with no complaint, pretty little thing, and even decide to touch the tip of yours to mine in a play-fight.

I take advantage of your pliant state and coat my fingers with oil. You've not the sense to question it, neither do you flinch when I spread it on your hole with a finger. Are you reading my thoughts now, Charles? Can you see my plans for you tonight?

No matter how well you anticipate it, you still make a high sound when the tip of my thumb breaches you to the first knuckle. By the gods is it hot inside you, and the grip is tight, tighter than you've ever been. I like the thought of being your first cock twice. I'll gloat when you return to yourself, when you can take all of me, when I can rut in and against you with abandon. For now I'll take care not to push you too hard or stretch you too wide, because there is a sweetness in taking your virginity like this, Charles, when you're young and tender and naive.

_Have you ever touched yourself like this?_ I ask as I circle my fingertip against the sacred whorl of your hole.

_No, never._

_You'll like it_ , I promise. _It's a different pleasure, Charles._ _You might even like it a little too much_ , I say with a knowing smirk.

Nothing can prepare you or me for the effect of tapping my finger against that special place inside you. You gasp, arch off the bed, clutch my shoulders like it can save you. _What was_ \--you try to say. You can't even finish your sentence. I smile and kiss your chin. _Did you like that? Yes? Would you like me to do that again?_

I turn us to our sides, to make it easier for me to hold you. I rest your head on my arm, and spend an eternity just caressing your hair back from your face. You're so beautiful, it makes my heart ache. I miss you even when you're here.

I spread my hand down your flank, rest it on your rapidly moving ribcage, before dragging your leg over mine. That way I can continue to fit two of my fingers in you, tight as it is already, to rub insistently against your prostate.

You whimper as I play you just as you like it. I'm an expert of your body, Charles. There's not an inch of you I don't know, from the texture of your knees to the dimples on your arse to the freckles on your back. I know the hidden scar at the back of your head and the precise angle of where to fuck you. I know the arch you'll make when you come.

And arch you do when you come. So pretty, so sweet. I lick it all off when you're done, and swipe my tongue at your crack for good measure. I'd rim you now if I had the inclination for it tonight. Or perhaps…perhaps I'll do so anyway, after I've come. Your hands are soft and small as they hold me, tentatively, slicked by oil and sweat. I guide both of your hands with one of mine, and teach you to twist at each stroke. You learn quickly, and soon I am fucking into your grip, chasing release.

I fall to pieces at your amateur touch, but I am grateful for the way you touch your lips to mine. You guide me to the bed and burrow into my arms. I smell you, sweet with youth, clean like milk. Ha. Don't think I can't see you sneaking a taste. _Open up, love, and suck the come from my palm._ Later, when I recover, I will lick my way into you until you can take three of my fingers. I'll fuck your thighs while you're stuffed full, and make you come from that too.

It's a promise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Di](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lsh1) wanted moar. Bless her shota-loving heart.

How now, my love? You’re beautiful in sunshine as in moonlight. Your freckles are better seen, and I can see the glow of the peach fuzz of your skin. I like the smallness of you tucked into me, and the length of your foot cupped in my hand. I like the way you mewl when I slide my hand up your calf, and down the underside of your thigh to press at the bruise there. Two cherry dots to mark my kisses, two little bites to hide under your cotton pants. Two little secrets we’ll only share between you and me, along with the others I’ve hidden in the seam of your lips and the pucker of your arse.

You clench as I prod you there, sensitive from last night’s stretching. _Hurts_? I ask. _No_ , you say, trying to move towards my fingers already. You’re a natural slut, I marvel. You’re a creature of desire. What else can you be when every atom of your body attracts me to you? _This is the science of you and me, and I love you to the depth and breadth and height--_

 _Don’t laugh,_ I tease, even as my fingers flutter over your ribs. _This is what I get, for trying to be sweet?_

I don’t expect you to cup my face with your palms, small but sure, and your smile is the same as it ever was. _Erik_ , you say, and something heavy settles over the air, my soul throbbing with all of the great things you inspire in me. I kiss your wrist in fealty. Even with your body and your mind diminished, you can still move the very core of me.

 _Up_ , I tug at you, _my kitten needs a bath._ You laugh and push at my shoulder; gasp when I affectionately smack your bottom when you refuse to budge. With a flourish I lift the sheets off and heft you into my arms. I’ve only done this once before, with you drunk and stupid with it, enchanting with the flush reaching down your neck and to your chest. You nuzzled into the crook of my neck then as you are doing now, and though I miss the older you, I like this too.

I seat you on the tile counter and run my hands down your soft thighs when you shiver, dropping a kiss at your mouth while the bath runs. Another to the tip of your ear just to hear you squeal. One last kiss to a stiff nipple, and then the bath is ready, the room already filling with steam.

I let you lean on me, back to chest as the water swirls about us. I watch the water drip down your arm as I lift your hand up. _How small,_ I whisper. _How small the vessel that holds the world._

You undulate against my cock, which is still stiff from waking and from your kisses. I slip my fingers in you, clean you from the inside out until you’re panting into the quiet air. _Please_ , you say. _Please, Erik._

 _You beg very prettily,_ I say, _but I have greater things in mind._  

The rest of the bath is perfunctory. My scrubs are firm but never rough, so eager am I to get you clean and back to bed. I’d just remembered the promise I made last night.

 _Do you know what rimming is, Charles?_ I ask. You shake your head, even when the answer can be easily plucked from my mind. _Let me show you._

I arrange you as I like back in bed: on your knees, clutching a pillow to your chest, presenting your clenching hole to me. You’re trembling, darling. _Shhhh, don’t be afraid._

 _I’m not afraid_ , you whisper.

 _Just desirous then?_ I quip, and lean in and lick your hole just as you open your mouth to reply. What escapes is a moan instead, and little gasps that you can’t help. Even this young, your body knows how to dance to carnal pleasure. I love to watch the milk-skin of your hips move, how the dips and curves invite my mouth to suck on them.

I like watching you clench around air when I pull away to suck at my fingers. You mewl when I touch you again with a finger, and dip into you until only the first knuckle. I let my tongue explore the rest, watch you flinch when I spit at that rosy pucker and tongue into you again. Two fingers in now, and long slow licks at your rim, coaxing a groan out of you. I’ll have you loose enough to take three if I can help it.

Perhaps I overestimated you, Charles, for the moment I wrap my hand around your cock, you shoot like an arrow around my grip, a delicious splash of seed. No matter. If it keeps you open to me, I will not lament it, and your thighs look wonderfully debauched when I spread your come on the insides.

 _Together, like this_ , I coax, as I guide myself between them. There’s nothing sweeter than the clench of a boy’s thighs around your prick, the Greeks profess, other than his mouth. Like this, I get to feel the squeeze and slide of my cock against your skin and the underside of your balls. _Perfection_.

 _Could you fit three of my fingers, d’you think, Charles?_ You moan, mouth open, wrecked and panting. I can’t tell if it’s a sight that belongs to a Botticelli angel or a whore. You’re sweeter than any heaven I know and as damning as any sin, but the way you open around my fingers is worth any divine punishment.

I fuck your thighs with my prick and I fuck your hole with my fingers, and you love it, you love the feeling of being full and used and mine and you love me, Charles, only me, tell me you love me--

I add to the mess of your thighs, panting with exertion. You’re sleepy and sated beside me, your mouth a red, kiss-stained bow. I kiss you, one last time, before closing my eyes and nuzzling into the nape of your neck.


	3. Chapter 3

I saw you earlier today trying to reach the top shelf in the library. I wanted to take your thin wrists in one hand and take my pleasure without mercy, press my erection into your backside and ride you into the spines of the books, my hand cupping your front and rocking you into the warm hollow. I know you knew I was there, despite my best attempt at shielding. I always want you in a number of nameless ways, but this particular way shames me when I stop for breath.

You feel so fragile underneath my scarred hands, thin silk stretched over bird’s bones for all that you could destroy me with a thought.

Tonight I seat you on my lap and let you read your books to me. Novels, textbooks...anything you like as long as I can keep holding you like this. I’ve not held a child since...since before, and Charles, it alarms me when I look at you eating at the kitchen table, small and delicate, your hair curling about your ears like a cherub, and feel nothing but the burn of want for you.

The only pure thing I ever knew about me was my rage, but even that—even that you’ve managed to corrode with you just being yourself. Now the only bright thing about me is my utter devotion to you. You must know that. You must.

The weight of you is heavy on my thigh.You’ve got delicate feet, darling. They’re soft and ticklish when I run my thumbnail to the underside of it. I’ve often wondered what you looked like as a babe, with your little pucker of strawberry lips and your ocean eyes, vulnerable to the thoughts of wicked things.

 _Erik_ , you say. _Don’t be sad._

I kiss the skin at your nape. I have been eyeing it ever since you bent your head towards your book. You are no longer reading aloud, absorbed by other worlds too easily. _No_ , you say. _I’m still here with you_. And you turn your head to me with such a smile I cannot help but press my own against your cheek.

I’m growing hard again, which doesn’t surprise me. The heat and the heaviness of you is enough for my body to miss the clench and slide of your skin. I want to rut into your thighs again, come at the sight of your spine arching beneath me. Or over me, as you flex against me again and again. I love the way you sigh, the way your eyes lose focus and learn to moan like a whore on the docks. I like the juxtaposition: you with your choirboy mien, the angelic curl of your hair sticking to the wanton flush on your cheeks, your arse squeezing around my thumb.

Oh, but I am still a stranger to the ecstasy of your lips. _Would you like to try something new?_ I ask.

_What is it?_

_Something good. Kiss me here first._  I point to my mouth.

_There. Now what?_

_Kiss me again, but here._ I hold your gaze steadily as I unzip my cock, soft now but already filling with arousal. Your mouth drops open at the sight, fascinated as it seems to double in size.

_Can I—_

_Yes. Touch._

Your hand wraps around me, careful and hesitant. I squeeze my fingers around yours. It’s not so fragile, look. A strong squeeze draws a bead of precome at the tip, and I coax you to kiss the tip. You pucker your lips and peck.

 _A little more, darling._ You look up at me from under your lashes and take the head in your mouth, knowing already to sheath your teeth with your lips, clever boy. _Swirl your tongue around me_ , I instruct, letting my hand curl at the base of your skull.

 _Is this good?_ You ask, kittenish at my lap.

 _Very good_. I assure, caressing the smooth skin of your back. _You’re doing so well, love_. The words make you bloom like a flower, growing pink under my fingers. For all the filthy, lascivious things that we’ve been doing, it is the compliments that make you blush the most. Why is it, I wonder, that you hardly bat an eyelash when I think of fucking you into the mattress, hard enough for it to hurt, and yet you turn shy at my little words.

You bend your head again, sucking wetly at the tip, and half of the pleasure is watching you discover the taste and texture of me inside your mouth. _Wonderful, lovely Charles_ , I whisper, urging you into swallowing a little more.


	4. Chapter 4

When I was thirteen I had been stripped of everything. I lost it all: my autonomy, my dignity, my personhood. Eisenhardt was the proud name my parents bore, ironheart, iron-willed; in the office of Klaus Schmidt it was killed with a single bullet. I had not known it at the time, but the Eisenhardt boy within me died right there. I had lost everything, but in Schmidt’s hands, reduced to grit and gruel, I also became something more. More angry, more hungry, more fearless of countless nameless things.

When I escaped him, I gave myself a new name. _T_ _abula rasa_ it was not. I had no intention of forgetting the past, but for once I had a hand in shaping my future. I refined myself like iron smelted from ore. When you met me, I was a product of years of hammering my rage into a weapon, spirit hardened from cold hate.

It isn’t that I hate you now, Charles. I could never say that I hated you. But I _am_ angry, and your plaintive whimpering won’t change the fact that you’ve been stupid with yourself. I had forgotten how vehemence could shift the center of my gravity; its been too long since I indulged myself in it.

I refuse to be soft to you when you continue to be so stubborn. What is the saying? Spare the rod, spoil the child? If I punish you, it’s for your own good. Bad children deserve to learn from their mistakes, and pain is the easiest way to make one remember.

( _Remember well, Little Erik,_ Schmidt had said to me once as he dug the butt of his cigarette against my thigh, _I am only doing this because it’s for your own good.)_

Why struggle? Why be so bull-headed? I’m disappointed in you, Charles. Stop pulling at the cuffs. There’s a reason I’ve bound you to the bed with it. No amount of weeping will do you any good; I know you don’t mean it. Any tears you shed for the pain from my hand will not be in penitence, but in frustration. I know you. Stop making a show of it and lay still, you foolish thing.

(Schmidt had restrained to my cot, once upon a time. Left me alone for days and days. It was one of his more merciful punishments.)

You begin to quiet as I sit at the edge of the bed, filling my lungs with air and measuring each exhale. The rage is familiar, but I had never recalled it ever being so...so consuming or visceral, or so sharp. Sharing my life with you has made me soft. Shame on you, stupid man, but the greater fool me.

 _I’m not stupid_ , you begin to protest. I circle my hand around your ankle and squeeze hard until you’re tightlipped with anger. I’m sure to leave bruises, and I’ll likely rue my existence later, but oh! How you infuriate me!

I’m so exasperated I’m beyond words. There’s nothing I can do except to turn you on my lap like the child you’re being and spank the vindictiveness out of you.

You shriek into the pillow at the first hit. The sound is satisfying, cleansing. Your toes curl, but it’s nothing I know you can’t take. On the second, you grit your teeth against the feral scream wanting to tear out of your throat. I keep you still, my palm wide as it presses against the small of your back, pressing indents against your tender flesh. You struggle against me not for any real purpose, but on principle.

If you truly objected to this, you would have taken my mind and be done with it.

Instead, your arse clenches rhythmically after the fifth, the skin already reddened to touch. It’s unfair how the very symmetry of you enchants me; every spank that ripples your skin draws my eyes greedily to it, and I want to tongue the dip of your spine, the crevice of your rear. I want to catalogue the way your whole body shudders through a hit, how the flush of passion stains the back of your neck the most enticing pink.

Each strike chips my anger away until what’s left of me is control. And each strike leaves you a little more pliant, a little more tender. Apologetic, even. ( _Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty._ I stop at an even number, an acceptable number.) And that’s better. Much better, darling.

 _Shhhh_ , I soothe, turning you on your side and wiping your tears away with the pads of my thumbs. Your tantrum slopes down into even breathing. I settle beside you, patient, my rage purged and still you continue to sniffle, little hitching sobs that shake your frame. Your mind is a tentative touch against mine, a warm hand on a glass door. I let you in, coax you to dip into the hard-won peace that’s settled into me, shoving past the anger and the worry to let you see the fierce love that’s defined who I’ve become for you.

You calm eventually. I peel the rest of your shorts away to cup your prick in my hand, play with the foreskin as you try not to rub against the sheets. I could put my mouth on you, fuck you with my fingers until you’re begging for it the way you think is shameful but I find delicious. Or I could kiss the skin of your arse better, and if you’re good, I might be bothered to claim you with my tongue.

 _I’ll be good, Erik,_ you promise, grinding against my hand. _I swear not to be foolish anymore. I just wanted to help._

You overestimate yourself far too much, Charles, but I accept the apology for what it is. Wordlessly, I turn you onto your stomach and unchain you from the bed, careful not to press my lips too hard on your reddened skin. I circle a dimple with my tongue, and when you whimper I kiss the pucker of your entrance. Can you feel how much I want you, darling? I’d keep you eternally in my bed if I could.

I tease you for your earlier insolence with shallow thrusts, just quick dips and laps of tongue. The stubble on my cheeks and chin scratches you, but you arch into the sensation all the same, insatiable faunlet that you are. The carnal roll of your hips pushes you back and forth against my tongue and the sheets, and when you’re moaning almost continuously under me, I reach in deeply for the spot that never fails to make you rigid with pleasure.

Your undoing prompts mine, and quickly I unbutton my trousers and pull at my stiff prick. You turn your head to watch me from the corner of your eye and _that_ is what tips me over the edge: your wanton profile flush from orgasm, hair curling from your sweat and mouth blood-red from being bitten.

I splash my pleasure over the globes of your plush arse, watch it drip into the crevice. My thumbs hook you open in time to see a drop to make it inside the rim, and wouldn’t that be beautiful? To claim you fully with my cock, mark you as mine from the inside.

When I look up, you’re already dozing off, no doubt exhausted from the day. I plant a kiss on your cheek and murmur comfort into your ear, rubbing the pad of my thumb over the wing of your shoulder until I’m sure you’re asleep. In slumber you’re as beguiling as fair Endymion, and I close the curtains so that the moon cannot peek and decide to take you away. You are mine, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

_I’ve been thinking, darling,_ I casually say, two fingers buried to the knuckle into your secret heat, _I'd like to fuck you._

You whimper as I curl my fingers, dragging the tips of them just past the spot that makes you buck and shiver. _Erik—_

 _Think of it, Charles. I’ll finally get a cock in you, fuck you good and proper,_ I say, watching the redness on your cheeks reach the back of your neck. It’s terrible of me, I know, but I do so enjoy it when you blush like the virgin you aren’t, and all it really takes is a few coarse words. Sometimes even the compliments I drip into your ear like honey make you flush the most. It’s easier to do so when you’re this young and just as sheltered from the world, when everything you’ve known thus far has been the neglect of your mother and the nightmare of your stepfather. The Charles I known would have matched me wit for wit, barb for barb, a haughty eyebrow raised, a tongue sweeping over his lower lip.

I catch the thought quickly, containing it within the thick walls around my mind. I’m starting to think of you and he as separate beings when in all honesty, you’re not. You’re still _my_ Charles after all, just in a different shape and form. Just without the memories, and so without the ragged edges of the past weighing us down.

 _Yes?_ I ask, letting the tips of my fingers rest lightly, so lightly against the swollen spot inside you. I have you held just on the precipice of orgasm, stretched sweetly around three fingers. I can undo you in less than a second—say the word Charles, and your wish will be my command.

As soon as you murmur your assent, I press my fingers in firmly, and you thrust down into the bed. The sound you make is indecent, a cross between a gasp and a moan. It looks like you’ve been electrocuted by pleasure, like lightning has struck every inch of nerve and all you can do is let yourself strain against the sudden, brilliant tension that’s seized your spine. It’s magnificent to watch. The muscles in the small of your back twitch under my touch; I kiss the wing of your pale shoulder, murmuring, _there’s my boy, there’s my good, darling boy._

With you half-melted into the bed, I let myself indulge in the jiggle and movement of your arse. I finger the crease just above your thigh where I’ve left hickeys and dig my fingers in the slope of your rear just to see it mark. You’re ruined, darling, I think with not a small amount of pride.

 _Now how should I have you,_ I murmur. _On your front? Your back? Shall I have you astride my lap?_ As I contemplate this, I pull off my pants and reach for the slick. I thread my clean fingers through your hair and turn you around for a kiss. I like you like this, soft under me, pliant like the purest of iron. _Well, darling?_

 _However you like,_ you finally tell me, opening your mouth when I bite your lower lip. The sweet lilt of your moans is enough to goad me; I leave a bite on your chin and settle back on my haunches. The skin at the back of your thighs is silken and littered with bruises, and I admire them as I push them back, exposing your prick and your little red hole to me.

Your belly is still wet with come. I should like to lick you filthy thing, but I like more the memory of you open and vulnerable and lustful when I finally despoil you. I take my cock in hand and let the tip kiss your hole, watching your wide-eyed face as I push in.

By the gods is it hot inside you. Your hands clutch at my arms and leave crescents on my skin. _Does it hurt, Charles? You must tell me if it does._

_I—no, but—_

I slide in an inch. Your limbs stiffen under me, and I hold my breath, cock throbbing for release. I want so desperately to fuck into you, never mind the tears in your eyes. Instead I take your prick in hand and squeeze, encouraging your arousal, urging you back to hardness. I press my thumb at the slit, the way you like it, and thrust in with each stroke of the shaft.

 _Erik!_ you cry, and I pull you down the bed so that our hips are flush together, bend your knees to your shoulders. It’s a learning experience given our new physiological differences, but I still know the precise angle with which to fuck you the way I know how to breathe.

The pace I set is agonizing, which is a contrast to the first time I had you. The first time, we’d been drunk on scotch and the scent of each other, and you were tight then too but you weren’t a virgin. You were a man in my arms, an equal who could take the rough rolling fuck you demanded. With you as a boy, I want the slow lovemaking you deserve. I never asked who taught you about the logistics of sex, but I could tell whoever did it still cast shadows in your eyes.

I want none of that. I want you to never flinch away from my touch. I want you to seek it, to crave me as much as I crave you, I want you wanton and freely desirous the way you could be. I want sex to be a joy to you and not the punishment you sometimes think it is.

 _Charles, love,_ I coax, gathering you into my arms and smelling the sweet musk of your neck. You gasp into my ear and tangle your mind around mine as closely as you’ve tangled around my limbs. I know the exact moment you learn how to milk pleasure from a cock inside you; I’m stunned from the sensation and have to stop, tilting your jaw towards me for a deep, drunken kiss.

We part for air. I cradle your head in my hand and start to thrust in earnest. As a lover, you are exquisite: responsive, intuitive, instinctive. This is a dance you innately know, I'm simply leading. You're doing magnificently. 

When your entire being squeezes around me, I can scarcely breathe, so overwhelmed by your presence that my body is merely an animal that heels at your command. I come helplessly with a groan, muffled against your swollen lips, and my pleasure is echoed in the shape of your open mouth.

You wince when I pull out, long moments after. My body hurts with exertion, but it must be nothing compared to the tender puffiness of your sex. This I circle with a careful finger, but I find nothing amiss, no break of skin, just warmth and a wetness that’s fascinating in itself.

Impatient with my inspection, you crook your leg around my hip so I have no choice but to lie back beside you. You’re sleepy, body singing but mind heavy. I feel the same, tiredness weighing my thoughts down and muffling every other sensation. It takes great effort to pull the duvet over us, but it’s a necessary evil.

Once settled, I draw you to me, feeling your heartbeat under my palm, and I know with a fierce certainty that we are bookends of the same soul.

There can only be one for me, and that is you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed it! And if you've got any kinks to share, I am totally open to suggestions. Next chapter may or may not be a fisting chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

There’s nothing quite as extraordinary as watching my hand disappear into your greedy sex. It is you who must give, who must accommodate me as I cram my fingers into you, rigid and unrelenting. The first four fingers go in easily, slicked with lube and saliva, the pucker of your arse stretched wide. You flinch at the feeling of my knuckles breaching, and I wait until the arch of your back melts, soothed by my low murmurs and whispered encouragements.

 _So good, Charles,_ I say, smoothing my hand over the small of your back, rubbing circles over the dimples there. It’s one of my favorite parts of you, these little digs and grooves in the muscle that invite my eyes and finger to touch. _Darling, darling,_ I praise _, so good to me, now just a little more._

You take my fist with such grace I cannot help but pepper kisses all over the wings of your back. The flat of my palm has gone in, and you clench around my wrist like a vice. I still, wait for your body’s command, your ribs expanding and contracting with quick breaths. _Hush, now, hush. Tell me how it feels, Charles._

 _Oh…_ You moan, your thoughts a jumble of arousal and pain, the stretch of my hand exquisite. I can feel you tremble with it, overwhelmed at my touch, and you sob as I move my fingers fractionally, a slight spread that nevertheless rocks you to the core. I lick at the rim of your hole, spread wide and slick, so slick for me. There’s a wet patch on the bed from the trail of precome leaking down your little cock.

I’ve never seen you so small, darling, crouched as you are on our king-sized bed, fucked wide open right to my wrist. I don’t know why we’d never tried this before. I know you like my hands. The aesthetics of it, I suppose, is pleasing: long fingers, a strong palm, the hands of a man who could have been an artist in another life. Although I suspect your fondness for them it isn’t so much what they look like as much as what they do. They’re good, capable hands for fixing all the old broken things around this damned castle, warm on cold days, and loving whenever I touch you. Compared to your child’s hands now, they’re so much larger. It’s even more apparent when you twine your fingers through mine, squeezing them in tandem with the way you’re squeezing around my wrist. The irony is beautiful—predator that I am, caught by my own device.

Your thighs are trembling with the effort of staying up. I wait, let your arsehole clench repeatedly around my wrist. I don’t stop you from pulling at your prick because my fingers are starting to strain from their fisting position, but oh, darling, how lovely you look with the sweat curling at your nape and your blush reaching down your back, literally at the mercy of my hand.

I twist it, just a little bit, just to see how you’d react, and the squelch of the movement is obscene. I see how the sensation ripples from the small of your back up to your neck; the line of your spine bows forward, your toes curl, you squeeze with your whole body as orgasm rushes through you. I almost come just from that. Almost.

You whine when I let myself free, turning over so that you can take big, shallow gasps, your eyes taking on a dazed sheen. I could do anything to you right now and you wouldn’t protest. As it is, I want your mouth on me, I want your lips puffy not just from kisses and bitten-down moans. You’re insensible from pleasure, however, head lolling when I cup the back of your neck to guide you to my cock.

A vision flashes through my mind, the same hand that I fucked you with gripping my prick and making me come. I’m so hard I can barely think, I’d do anything for release right now, so I acquiesce and kneel, placing my knees on either sides of your chest. I brace myself against the headboard and masturbate to the sight of your afterglow; when I come, it catches on your cheeks and open mouth and pools on the dip of your clavicle. I spurt, one last time, to you licking that wetness away from your lip, held thrall by your eyes and your self-satisfied smile.

 

 


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